Ghostland_A Zombie apocalypse Novel

by Shaun Whittington

  *

  They weren’t far away now, and Dicko told Simon that once they were back at the farm they would empty their bags and dump the apples in the sink, have a few drinks and have five minutes. Then they would take the two bags with them, take the car, and head back to the visitor centre and empty the kiosk.

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Simon. “I can’t remember the last time Imelda had some chocolate. I should have grabbed a few bars when we were there and put them in our pockets.”

  “Already did,” Dicko snickered.

  He put his hands in his pockets and pulled out four Dairy Milks. “One each.” He handed one to Simon. “You want yours now?”

  “Why not?” Simon grabbed the chocolate bar. “Can’t wait to see her face when you give her hers. She just loves chocolate.”

  “Doesn’t every female?”

  “We’ll just tell them that we need to go back to get some tins and stuff,” suggested Dicko. “When we return with a car full of chocolate and soda drinks, Imelda will love you forever, and Yoler...”

  Dicko suddenly stopped and realised he was getting over excited.

  “What about Yoler?” Simon asked with a smirk. “Would she love you forever?”

  “Up yours.” Dicko snickered and both began to laugh. “You know, she’s the first woman I’ve been with since…” Dicko paused and dropped his head.

  “Since?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  Dicko had a quick look at Simon and was glad that he was feeling better. He had only known the man for days, but he liked him. He was a good man, and a good father. Imelda was lucky to have him.

  Their eventual arrival was spotted by Yoler. She opened the main door and greeted both men.

  “Any luck?” she asked.

  Both men nodded and stepped inside. Imelda was at the table in the living room and gave her daddy a smile. There was no hug; he had only been away for an hour. She simply looked up at Simon, flashed him a smile, and then lowered her head and continued to draw. He noticed that her long blonde hair was in a ponytail. He assumed that she or Yoler had found an elastic band from somewhere.

  “What’re you drawing?” Simon walked over, bag still over his shoulder.

  Imelda put her arm around the picture and covered it up. “It’s not finished yet.”

  “Sorry,” Simon laughed.

  He went into the kitchen and Dicko followed him in, and then both men emptied their bags into the empty sink. Yoler walked in and flashed a smile when she saw the sink full of green apples.

  “Excellent, guys.” She put her arm around Dicko and kissed him on the cheek. “Was that all there was?”

  Simon took a quick glance and felt a twinge of jealousy. He wasn’t jealous because he was attracted or had feelings for Yoler. He missed the affection from an adult female. He missed his wife.

  “There was more,” Dicko spoke to Yoler, “but we came across a kiosk full of confectionery.” Simon pulled out two bars of chocolate from his pocket. “One for you and Imelda. And there’s much more where that came from.”

  “Nice one, rent-a-gob,” Dicko huffed. “Remember the surprise we were talking about?”

  “Shit,” Simon laughed. “Sorry.”

  “Chocolate. Wow, Dicky Boy.” Yoler flashed both men a wide grin. “Multiple orgasms in a wrapper. I haven’t had a chocolate bar since I broke into a newsagents in Shawlands. I think that was a few weeks ago.”

  “Well, there’s plenty more,” Simon said. “Dicko was going to keep it as a surprise, but I messed that up, didn’t I? Anyway, all this chocolate is the reason why we’re going back.”

  “I can go if you want,” she volunteered.

  “No, it’s okay.” Dicko rubbed his eyes and said, “This shouldn’t take as long. We’re taking the car this time, now that we know for definite that the place is clear. Well ... it was kind of clear.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Remembering what Simon had told him, Dicko lowered his voice so Imelda couldn’t hear and said, “I came across one of the dead.”

  “Not a big deal.” Yoler shrugged her shoulders. “They’re still out there.”

  “Yes, but...” Dicko took a step back and took a peep in the living room to see Imelda with her head down at the table, still drawing. “Simon has told her that they’re no longer around.”

  “Why? To protect her?” Yoler looked at Simon.

  Simon nodded. “We hadn’t seen any for months, and even I believed that they had gone for good. It’s been nearly a year. I thought the ones that weren’t killed by the bombs surely must have rotted away and fallen to pieces by now. After all, they’re dead, aren’t they?”

  “Nice theory, Simes,” Yoler began, “but they’re still out there, and some look quite … fresh, new.”

  “These things have scarred her, mentally,” said Simon, “especially as they killed my wife and son. I suppose I thought it would help her, psychologically.”

  Dicko shook his head and huffed, “Until she sees one for herself.”

  “I think a lot of them are pretty much gone, but not all.” Yoler nodded, and then took a look over her shoulder to make sure that Imelda was still in her own world, drawing at the table. “Just hope for your sake you don’t come across any. Or you’ll have some explaining to do, daddy-o.”

  Simon and Dicko took a drink of water, then Dicko took the car keys from the kitchen worktop and both men said farewell to the girls for a second time.

  “Be careful,” Yoler called out as they both left through the back door and headed for the Mazda.

  Imelda had now left the table and stood next to Yoler. The vehicle moved away and both females waved. Simon blew Imelda a kiss and she caught it, and then the vehicle turned on the country road.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “There’s a lay-by up ahead,” Dicko had announced; he dropped the vehicle into third and slowed the car down. “It’s just past the orchard.”

  It had been an uneventful short drive back to where they were before, but Simon and Dicko weren’t complaining. He finally brought the car to a stop in the lay-by.

  “What are we stopping here for, mate?” Simon asked. “Why don’t we drive right into the visitor centre car park and get this thing over and done with?”

  “Just being cautious,” Dicko said, and couldn’t believe Simon’s naivety. “We need to park the car in a reasonably hidden place, and you know why. Also, if people have arrived at the visitor centre while we were absent, then they won’t be able to hear us coming.”

  Dicko turned off the ignition and reached into the back passenger seats. He grabbed both of the empty bags and handed one to Simon.

  “Ready, soldier?” Dicko snickered.

  Simon sighed, “I suppose. Do you think we’ll get most of the stuff in the back of this car?”

  “I don’t see why not.” Dicko began chewing the inside of his mouth in thought. “I don’t particularly want to go back to the farm and then come back here again, do you?”

  “No, I fucking don’t,” Simon huffed and ran his fingers through his beard.

  Dicko opened his door and stepped out, with the bag over his shoulder and his trench knife still in its holster. Simon stepped out and kept his knife in his pocket after seeing that his companion was relaxed enough to walk to the centre without a blade in his hand. Simon had the hammer back at the house, as well as other tools since the homestore raid, but he preferred the knife. If a Canavar did appear, he knew the blade would be the less messy of kills compared to the hammer.

  The two men walked along the side of the desolate road, trees to either side of them, and went over to the same cluster of trees they went to before entering the premises of the visitor centre. They crept through the woodland and Simon stopped walking when Dicko had stopped and held his hand up.

  Both men were near the edge of the group of trees and could see the play-park and kiosk from where they were crouching. They remained silent for a minute or so, and then Dicko asked S
imon if he was ready to go over and start filling his bag.

  “No time like the present,” Simon said.

  Dicko took a quick look and realised that Simon was trying to put on a brave face, albeit not very successfully.

  Dicko led the way, with Simon close behind.

  Over a twenty-five minute period, Dicko and Simon had made three journeys to the car and had dumped a lot of confectionery and drinks in the back seat.

  “There isn’t much left in that kiosk now,” Simon panted. “I’m getting knackered. One more journey?”

  “I think one will be enough to clear the place out.” Dicko nodded, sweat running down the arch of his back. “Come on. When we get back I’m gonna have to have an afternoon nap.”

  “Me too, mate,” Simon chuckled.

  A snap of a branch made both men hold their breaths and freeze. They gaped at one another and Simon was the first to break the silence.

  “What was that?” Simon whispered.

  Dicko shrugged and tried to laugh it off. “Maybe it was a bear or something.”

  “We don’t get bears in this country. Well ... apart from what’s in the zoos.”

  “If there’re any zoos left.”

  “Maybe we should just go back to the car.”

  “Nah.” Dicko shook his head. “One more trip.”

  Both men walked over to the kiosk with tired feet and stopped in their tracks when a figure came from behind the small building.

  It was a female.

  The woman was in her thirties, had dark greasy hair tied back in a ponytail, and her face was a little blotchy. She wasn’t unattractive to Simon and Dicko, but she certainly wasn’t in the same league as Yoler.

  “Hello there,” she greeted.

  “Where the hell did you come from?” Dicko asked her.

  Simon could see that his companion was a little jittery and rested his hand on his knife holster.

  “My name’s Clare,” the woman said. She took a step forward and held out her hand. Neither man shook it.

  “Oh.” She lowered her arm and placed it by her side, and then took a quick glance over her shoulder.

  The woman clearly looked embarrassed and Simon felt a little sorry for her.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Dicko said sharply, making the woman, and even Simon, feel uneasy. Dicko was a nice guy, but Simon had seen for himself that he was more than capable of taking a life if he had to.

  Simon decided to step in. “Look, love,” he began. “We’re all just a little on edge, that’s all.” Simon put the palm of his hand on his chest. “I’m Simon. And this is … Dicko.”

  “Pleased to meet you both.” The woman smiled and glanced over her shoulder again. “I just came from the woods. Been living rough, but haven’t we all?”

  “You on your own?” Dicko questioned her with a hard stare.

  “Yes, I am.” She smiled.

  “Then why do you keep looking over your shoulder?” Dicko elevated his eyebrows and quizzed further, “Expecting someone?”

  “No,” she snickered. “Of course not.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Before she could answer, two men appeared from around the corner and stood either side of the female.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” Simon said immediately and raised his hands in the air.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Dicko growled at Simon. “Put your hands down. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “You muppets have taken from our shed!” the man on the right yelled. “You’ve completely emptied it.”

  The man that had spoken was surprisingly clean-shaven, unusual these days, and the man next to him had short grey hair and a grey beard to match his hair.

  “Shed?” Dicko snickered. “What shed? You mean the kiosk?”

  “You know what I mean, funny fucker,” snapped the clean-shaven individual.

  “Where did you put the stuff?” the man with the grey beard asked.

  “What?” Dicko wasn’t sure what the man meant at first.

  “Did you hide it somewhere … or do you have a vehicle?”

  The woman spoke up and said, “What’s going to happen is that you guys are going to take us to where you’ve put our stuff.”

  “Then what?” Dicko laughed.

  “Then we’re gonna bring it back to our shed, sorry ... kiosk, and you two gentlemen can be on your way and never come back.”

  Simon shook with nerves and turned to Dicko. “That sounds fair. We now have a sink full of apples, and we have enough produce back at our place anyway.”

  “Don’t be naive, Simon,” Dicko laughed. “These three aren’t going to let us out of here alive.”

  “That’s not true,” said the woman with the greasy ponytail. “Deep down, we’re good people.”

  “Bullshit.” Dicko smiled and reached for his knife. “We know where you’re based now, so in your eyes we’re a threat.”

  “Don’t listen to him.” The woman glared at Simon. “All I want you two to do now is put your weapons on the floor so we can sort this predicament out peacefully.”

  “Come on.” Simon turned to Dicko. “Let’s just do what they say.”

  Dicko shook his head. “It’s not happening. As soon as we unarm ourselves, they’re gonna kill us.” Dicko then nodded over to their bulging pockets. Each one had a knife. “They’re all carrying. All three of them.”

  “So are we, aren’t we?”

  “Look,” the woman placed the palm of her hand on her head in thought. “Why don’t we see if we can come to some kind of arrangement?”

  “What kind of arrangement?” asked Dicko.

  “Well,” she began; her eyes moved to the side and this was noticed by Dicko. “What we can do … is … sit down and talk and…”

  She seemed to be trying too hard to make conversation and her eyes slightly looked away again, this being noticed by Dicko.

  Shit.

  He quickly turned around and saw a large man with short dark hair, holding an axe. As soon as Dicko had spotted the man, the man ran at Dicko and raised the axe.

  Dicko dropped his bag and ran at the axe-man as Simon stood in shock. He straightened both legs and went to ground, taking the man’s legs from underneath him. Simon left his empty bag and ran away from the scene as the other three ran over to the two men that were fighting; all had their blades out.

  Dicko called after Simon, but the father of one disappeared into the wooded area. Dicko decided to make a run for it as well, now that the three were near him, and the fourth man with the axe was scrambling to his feet. Dicko ran through the wooded area, after Simon, and knew that Imelda’s dad was heading for the car. Where else would he go?

  Dicko had exited the other end of the cluster of trees and ran as fast as he could. He had always been a quick runner, even as a child, and appeared to be making good ground and leaving the four assailants behind, but he needed to get back to the car and pull away before they reached them. He needed to be ten seconds ahead of them, at least, giving him time to get inside the vehicle and start the engine. He turned left and ran into the lay-by where the car was, but there was no Simon.

  “Oh no.”

  He gazed at all the products in the back of the car and was aware that the four individuals from the visitor centre weren’t far behind. He took his keys out of his front pocket and got inside. He started the engine and pulled away. His driver’s side window was being slapped and he quickly looked to see that it was one of the men from the centre trying to slap and punch his way in. The car reached twenty in seconds and Dicko could see that the man, and the other three, had stopped trying to pursue the vehicle. The car took a bend and Dicko had shifted the vehicle into fourth and was now doing thirty. He then slowed down and pulled in at the side.

  He couldn’t go back to the farm without Simon. He couldn’t have left the vehicle either; otherwise the four individuals would have taken back the products as well as the car.

  Dicko was in
a hopeless quandary now. What was he to do? He had to drive round the country lanes and hope Simon would jump out and flag the car down. But what if the four that they had stolen from ambushed him? That was the risk.

  He flirted with the idea of parking up the vehicle once more, somewhere secluded, and trying to search for Simon in the woods on foot.

  “Stupid prick,” Dicko huffed, thinking back at what Simon did.

  Simon Washington had left Dicko to his own devices. Without warning, he just ran, leaving Dicko to fend for himself. He wasn’t sure if he should have been angry with Simon. Maybe preparing to fight was stupid on Dicko’s part, but he was certain that they were going to be killed even if they both yielded.

  Simon had Imelda to think of, so Dicko knew his reason for fleeing, but he was also a coward. That was going to have to change. Simon was going to have to change, just like Dicko did.

  Simon and his daughter had survived the Canavars, the bombs, but as far as human savagery was concerned, this was just the beginning. It was going to get a hell of a lot worse than this.

  Simon had told Dicko that he and Imelda called the plague of the dead Stage One. When the bombs fell, Simon called this Stage Two. Maybe survivors killing other survivors was Stage Three.

  Dicko punched the steering wheel in frustration. Maybe he should return to the farm without Simon, at least then he could empty the car and the girls would have treats to munch on, and then he could go look for him.

  “Fuck it.”

  The man that called himself Dicko pulled away and took a left at a junction. He was going to drive for ten to fifteen minutes, and then he was going to go back, with or without Simon Washington.

  He couldn’t think of anything else to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Dicko came to a junction and took a left. He kept the vehicle in third, at twenty, and pulled out his trench knife and sat it on the passenger seat, just in case. With the tall intimidating trees on either side of him, he turned his head from left to right, smothered in paranoia.

  “Come on, Simon,” he moaned. “Where the fuck are you?”